


The Anticipation of Evil

by The_Last_Kenobi



Series: FebuWhump 2021 [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Clone Trooper Angst (Star Wars), Emotional/Psychological Abuse, FebuWhump2021, Graphic Description, Hurt CC-2224 | Cody, Hurt No Comfort, Imperial Officers (Star Wars), Implied/Referenced Suicide, It's all fucked up, POV Darth Vader, Post-Order 66 (Star Wars), Sheev Palpatine Being An Asshole, The Empire is human-centric and severely fucked up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:27:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29293659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Last_Kenobi/pseuds/The_Last_Kenobi
Summary: /Fear is pain arising from the anticipation of evil - Aristotle/The majority of Imperial forces are comprised of humans - volunteers and conscripts to the great and mighty work.There are a few remaining, though, that remember the Clone Wars.A few, who remember being brothers, with Jedi as their leaders.Written for FebuWhump 2021 - "I can't take this anymore."
Relationships: CC-2224 | Cody & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Clone Troopers & Anakin Skywalker l Darth Vader
Series: FebuWhump 2021 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2150256
Comments: 5
Kudos: 49





	The Anticipation of Evil

Vader sweeps through his flagship, his cloak billowing behind him, his footsteps iron on the polished floors.

Troopers march past him in untidy lines, the crisp uniforms not enough to hide the hastily trained soldiers the Empire is forced to employ. The fall of the Republic was swift, out of necessity. The traitors were expunged quickly and crudely, the Jedi executed by siege, treasonous Senators executed by snipers – it was all so hasty, to prevent the uprising.

But so many of the mighty Clones were felled that day.

And –

After, more of them had…

_Clones are not men. They do not require thought or attention._

Vader nods briefly when one of the Admirals bows. Technically, the Right Hand of Sidious is above them in power, but in military rank, he holds no office. The few Imperial officers who remember to cower before Darth Vader deserve at least acknowledgement.

He hears soldiers bantering and chuckling as he passes by a cafeteria.

His overly sharpened hearing, almost painful – and everything in this suit, in what remains of his flesh, is so constantly painful – detects that not a one of them is a Clone.

For some reason, _unease_ floods him.

Vader dismisses it. There is nothing to fear anymore.

He is the most powerful man in the galaxy. Palpatine – the Emperor – only remains his Emperor and Master because it is _expedient_. Vader has Order to bring to the galaxy and justice to bring to those who stole his health, his life, his family.

He _will_ claim the throne he so deserves later.

~~Besides, the minutia of running a government? Dull.~~

But still, the unfamiliar voices surround him.

* * *

“Captain Fol,” Vader grinds out, watching as the human man barely avoids colliding with the Sith. The man pales, but to his credit, does not cringe or ramble. Instead he apologizes, backing away swiftly.

“What are you doing?” Vader asks.

“Filing a new call-up,” Fol says nervously. “We need new troopers in this fleet.”

Vader frowns beneath the mask. “We didn’t lose enough troopers in the last two months to requisition more.”

“Not in battle, no,” the Captain says slowly.

Vader’s chest tightens. “I see. Continue.”

* * *

“Stop!” an officer barks. “Dammit, 8441, halt!”

But the uniformed figure, _with a number for a name,_ does not stop. “What did you make me do?” he screams, and the muffled voice rings familiar in Vader’s ears. “I see it – in my sleep – what did you do?! _What did you do?!”_

“Shut him up or shoot him,” snaps the Admiral.

“I can’t—” the Clone stormtrooper screeches. “I can’t take it—” he slams his fist on a console, and the junior officer shoots him through the eye.

Vader turns away.

It was a malfunction.

That was all.

The weak died every day.

* * *

It’s another year before he sees another incident.

“I can’t take this!” a voice with a familiar accent howls. There are three other troopers attempting to restrain him, but he won’t be contained. He bursts free from their hold, draws his own blaster, and raises it under his chin.

Vader’s hand twitches as if to stop him, but for whatever reason, he stalls.

The Clone stormtrooper screams – “You made me a murderer! You’re all traitors!”

And pulls the trigger.

He falls dead, a hole in the back of his regulation-perfect trooper helmet.

* * *

“Ten more executions and eighteen suicides,” a muted voice comes from behind a door as Vader stalks past, his blood singing from his most recent serving of justice, the pathetic screams of the adult shielding the two smaller traitors still burning inside him.

“Dammit,” complains another officer. “They just can’t take it, can they?”

“They’re not human,” says a third dismissively. “They’re aging rapidly as well. In a few years they’ll be decommissioned. And their numbers are already few.”

“Good,” the first man mumbles. “The sooner they stop making such a fuss, the better.”

“I’ll file the new call-up.”

* * *

The next, and last time, that Darth Vader watches a Clone lose its mind, it’s not one from under his direct command.

The visiting trooper marches up to him where he stands at the helm of his ship, ignoring the startled glances from the others, not waiting for an invitation. His stride is too hasty, full of panic and rage and something borderline manic. A superior tries to stop him and the man dodges roughly. He draws up right behind the Sith Apprentice.

Vader stiffens, and turns to face the man.

It – the trooper – the Clone, he’s not just a trooper. He’s one of the very, very few Clones that rose through the ranks to become more than just another white-clad footsoldier.

This one is a very low-ranking officer, unable by genetic design and Imperial standards to ever be more.

He’s shaking.

His fists are clenched and trembling at his sides.

“Officer,” Vader growls. “Mind your place.”

“My place,” the familiar voice gasps out, “is at my Jedi’s side.”

Those within earshot go rigid in shock and horror. This insane, bold fool is speaking _forbidden words—_

Vader raises a gloved hand to clench around the man’s throat.

Even as he wheezes for air, the man stares hard at Vader, as if he can see through the red eyes to the Sith-yellow ones beneath ~~(and maybe even to the blue ones beneath those.)~~

Vader…

He knows this face.

Not just because he’s seen millions very like it –

He knows _this_ face.

“You made me kill _my Jedi,”_ says Cody, gritting his teeth through the strangulation.

But he won’t.

Stop.

_Talking._

And Vader – he could snap his worthless neck, end this facsimile of a conversation in less than the blink of an eye.

But he doesn’t.

He listens, and he can’t stop listening.

_What did you make me do?!_

_I can’t take this!_

_My place is with my Jedi._

The voices overlap, but Cody comes out stronger, even as his lungs begin to fail.

“You won’t… win…” the scarred Clone gasps. “You… you _will_ … lose. I won’t be there to see it though.”

Vader’s hand trembles in midair.

Cody smiles, his face turning grey.

“I can’t take this,” he says, and it’s a sob. “I can’t take this anymore.”

And before Vader can finish the Clone off, Cody raises his own blaster and puts it under his chin.

The body drops with a sickening thud.

Vader stares down at the face and the dead, glassy eyes, and then turns his back, gazing once more on the vast display of the galaxy, all of it owned by him, one day to be governed by his powerful hands.

Just as soon as he’s done hunting traitors.

When he turns around again, the corpse has been cleared away.


End file.
